


Eternity can't be shared ( Three times Claire left Frank )

by Elysionia



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Character Study, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Marriage, Open Marriage, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 08:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17894648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysionia/pseuds/Elysionia
Summary: On most nights they sit on the windowsill sharing a cigarette. Admiring the sunset together because it means another day has passed. Every day, closer to the victory.





	Eternity can't be shared ( Three times Claire left Frank )

**Author's Note:**

> Brief trigger warnings for: rape, abortion, violence, anxiety and depression. Nothing graphic though.

** I **

 

It’s not that she didn’t love him. She had always been more in love with the thought of their future than she was with him. The decision was made early between happiness and power. Between handsome Reed and ambitious Francis. It was more than love. A Mutual understanding. Recognition of their shared thirst for power and for blood.

She crushed the weakest part of herself. Cut it out, leaving her behind crying on the bloodstained bed of her dormitory. The girl who’s only wish was to love and to be loved unconditionally. Sweet little thing with long hair and wide, too bright, eyes.  

He knew for him to succeed he needed someone like her to stand besides him in the battle. Not chivalrous and gentle Tim but Claire. Strong and stunning Claire, like the classics crafted by the old masters. Brought to life by careful hands. A Beacon of light amongst the crowd.

Perfect flash of smile, the perfect façade.

They were ready to go beyond, to stretch the laws more than ever before. Together they would be invincible while balancing on the edge of a knife. So they chained their wrists together, dragging each other through every seven years.

How couldn’t he love her stone cold heart. His perfect match. Why wouldn’t she be tempted by the paradise, the possibility, right there behind these walls. Seduced by her want for more.

 

.:.:.

 

Rattling of the heavy wood echoes in the hallway. He only sees the flash of red before she’s gone. Single letter of her well-being signed with trembling hands arrives days later to their door.

The house breathes with him and it feels like she’s never left at all. Twenty six long days. He glances the clock on the bedside table. 02:43 AM. He turns on to his back breathing slowly in and out. Staring deep into the darkness of the canopy against the light walls. Flashes of past summers.

Long straw blonde hair floating around her like a halo. Soft smile and reassuring, steady hands calm his racing mind. A perpetual sunset reflecting back gold from strands of her long hair. Sinking his hands deep in to the nape of her neck. Pulling her into a kiss on their front yard after the peach festival. Sweetness of her lips against his. Every southern boy’s dream. Gazing him softly with unshed tears in her eyes while he lightly strokes her cheek with his calloused finger. Her hate for campaigning, the feeling of being paraded around.

The Texas debutant.

Nothing personal. It’s just politics, right.

Is this his heaven. Forever stuck in the memories of their past or has he died. Heart stopped and legacy forgotten like his cold body lying all alone on the bed. Having achieved nothing. Suddenly he’s falling deep down into the abyss.

Gasping for air he flinches up from the pillows. It’s like he hadn’t woken from his sleep in the first place. Rubbing his aching forehead he rises up to his elbows to find the bed still empty besides him. Cold but silky sheets underneath his palm. Fisting the sheets into his hand, Frank falls asleep inhaling the still lingering scent of his wife.

 

.:.:.

 

Sometimes it feels like the time doesn’t move. Days pass by slowly. Moving through every campaign event in a haze. Her long tresses keep growing persistently every night. Stretching over her breasts. Brushing against her back. Tightening around Francis’ fist. Until 18 weeks has passed. One morning enough to snap her out of her numbness.

Even after weeks there’s still blood trickling down her legs. Cold sweat rises to her brows while she drags her unwilling and frail body towards the bathroom. She grips the edge of the sink like she’s holding on for her life. She washes her face in silence. Holding her breath a little longer than is necessary. She dries her hands mechanically. Rubbing too hard on the soft skin leaving red against white. Brushing her damp hair away from her face, she lifts up her chin up high and flashes her signature smile in the mirror. Gentle but shallow. Ice melting away to reveal steel underneath.

Without even thinking she’s out of the door pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Bang of the door ringing in her ears. _Is this the right thing?_

Autumn in Paris looks more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. Her breathing fogs in the stony church while looking at the sculptures of divinity. Praying. So enraptured by the beauty that she doesn’t notice a man walking slowly towards her. She’s caught off guard by the tall blond Brit whispering: ‘’ Tell me, how did you manage to escape the walls of Musée d’Orsay?’’

After seven days slipping from Adam’s sleeping arms is easier than she thought. Scribbling a goodbye note behind the photograph is better than seeing the turmoil in his eyes. Reflecting back the conflict in her heart. It has been wonderful but this cannot last.

Slipping into the elevator she nervously pulls at the ends of her hair. Why does she feel so wrong. Her stomach twists and turns making her heart beat even faster. _Find your steel Claire_. And suddenly her cheeks are wet with tears.

Barging through her hotel room’s door she runs into the bathroom. Heart pumping in her ears as she makes it to the bathroom floor before she becomes sick. The room spins around hard. Gasping for air she tries to calm her racing heart. Rising up from the bathroom floor on shaky legs, she leans her hips heavily against the sink. The cold water against her face feels divine. Wiping her face and the remains of her ruined mascara with trembling hands she looks into the mirror.

Pathetic little girl on the verge of another panic attack. _Is this who you really are._

She takes the shears from the cupboard. Sharp, long blades glistening in the warm light. Pulling her hair into a ponytail she maps the length out. The shears graze her ears and she realizes she’s holding her breath. Steadying herself she focuses solely on the task at hand. No matter how she tries the hairs slip and slide leaving ugly ragged strands of shorter and long hair behind. Snapping the final wisp she lets go of her hair.

Strands of gold rain down around her feet. Breathing out she brushes her hair behind her ears, looking her new self in the mirror. She smiles.

She finds him fast asleep on their king sized bed. The sheets on her side are crumbled into his hands. Clutched tightly against his chest. Quietly she sits down on the sheets. Careful not to wake him. Looking fondly at sleeping Frank her heart’s about to burst. He’s always been transparent to her, as she is now, alone in the night. He breathes slowly, face free of worry. Perfectly still and beautiful. Gently brushing the hair back from his face she whispers: ‘’ I did it Francis’’.

 

Her path was meant to cross with him. He’s the only person she’ll find again and again. The only person she’ll truly return to. And even after everything goes wrong, she’s ready to try once more. For he forgives her sins and she forgives him. On most nights they sit on the windowsill sharing a cigarette. Admiring the sunset together because it means another day has passed. Every day, closer to the victory.

 

** II **

 

The Oval is more crowded than ever but now they can solely trust each other. Symmetrical hallway, always in perfect balance. White flowers, ornate pillars and high walls separating them. Echoing rooms in a house that is borrowed. Only temporary like their time here.

Solitude burns at the back of her throat. Wind blowing against her on the edge of a bridge.

At nights she’s still folding paper swans and hoping that the dawning of the new day won’t collapse their carefully built house of cards.

Who folds faster her or fate.

Maybe she is being paranoid. He has become more arrogant and impulsive with his rage. Fire facing steel. Clashing together, sparkling with the heat. His intense gaze tearing through her blue eyes. Fingers digging into her jaw.

Numb

 

.:.:.

 

Now it’s about the battle, the urge to conquer her like any other pawn. The Queen of the chessboard. Their love turning ashes into his hands. He desires to tie her dainty wrists together and press her head against the cold marble. His need to take, take, take. Until there’s nothing left.

_She’ll be yours now and forever. You’ve made her. Helped her in need. Lifted her up above everything. Above everyone else._

The Scale tilts and she falls higher than ever before. Toppling down from the tower of their marriage finally breaking the pristine surface of the mirages they’ve become. Years shattering before their very eyes.

Blood is starting to pool underneath his fingers and when he drops his hand the damage is already done.

Sharp click of her heels against the floor is the last thing he hears of her. This time he slowly tries to pick up the pieces, to carry on with the game. Fight chaos with chaos without the queen on his side. Now, instead of facing the smooth steel wall, he’s faced with ragged stone. Trying to pound through with brute force until his hands bleed. He lashes against the stony walls welling in his rage.

_I will not yield_.

Have the shards of their marriage blinded him from looking forwards, of seeing the future.

With a huff he slides his battered hands down his face painting it in red. Glancing at the rock he realizes, how he suddenly misses his own reflection on the steel.

 

.:.:.

 

There’s nothing like being trapped into the Oval. The ultimate joke. Claire smiles at him beyond the thin glass panels. Standing tall and gorgeous in white like any sculpture made of marble. The Modern day Madonna.

No matter how hard he tries to escape his torment, he can’t get to her. Stuck inside this room with no escape. Flashes of Zoe and Peter make him crazy. Zoe with her short hair and white dress tempting him. Dead beguiling him to death.

But there she is, his redemption, standing on the other side of the glass. With her he becomes paralyzed. He slides his hands against the glass panes. Her elusive smile and calm eyes call out for him. He can almost touch her through the glass. Feel her warmth. But with a quirk of her mouth she’s gone.

 

Beeping of the machines wake him up from his delirium. Hovering shadows above his closed eyes. Weird smells, too bright lights reflecting in red through his closed eyelids. _Alive_. The only word he wanted to hear. He needs to get up, to make amends. Announce his defeat and kneel in front of his queen.

This time they will start all over from the beginning. A Clean slate. No hard feelings. He promises that this time everything will be different. He will give her all she’s ever wanted. And even more.

Power is power. And he is ready climb even higher with her by his side. She is his drug. The heroin he still craves after all these years. The need that drives him mad and most importantly, the key to his victory. He will do anything that is needed to keep her standing besides him. Even if it means having to share her heart for a while.

 

.:.:.

 

Watching Claire sleep next to Tom calms him down. In some twisted way he’s content. He has been too selfish but things are about to change. Everything is going according to his plan. The plan she knows nothing about. Of his perverse desire to finally crown his queen. Place her on the pedestal she belongs to.

Her light shines behind the clouds and even the darkest of nights has to give way to the sun.

Tom gets to enjoy her company for now. Humming softly in his sleep without any fear that the death is lying next to him in the bed. Sitting in the armchair. All she needs is a little nudge. He knows it’s sleeping inside of her. She needs to wake up from the vice presidency and attack. He’s not concerned about the plan, for he knows that she will always come back to his arms. No matter what. She will understand, eventually. With his carefully crafted plan they will triumph. He has done everything for him, for them.

No one can love her like he does. And no one will ever love him like she does. For they are equal forces, made from the same pure energy. The same animal under a different camouflage. They are invincible and unstoppable.

One nation: Underwood

History rewritten and the weak men crumble under their feet. _Nothing is forever, except us._

 

** III **

 

Murdering a man is easier than she had thought. Secretly she wished to feel somehow different. Sadness, anger, hurt or pain. Nothing. She’s still numb. Did she care about him or has she been acting for so long she’s able to fool even herself. Collecting her nerves on the stairway back at the residence, she brushes her hair away from her face.

When did her hair grow out to be so long.

Strutting through the hallway she feels vulnerable. Familiar already feeling foreign. Dismissing Frank quickly is the only way she can keep her armour up. The walls protecting her from him. Keeping everyone, including herself, out. Slipping away from the present. Nights come and go while she keeps staring at the ceiling while contemplating her choices.

_Is this the right thing._

Maybe it’s too late to question this. All she can do now is to keep on going.

 

So she became the person the scared little girl dreamed about. The woman she was destined to become. Having died and being reborn again and again. Stuck.

Now the remains of their power and legacy are slipping through the cracks of her fingers. Everything left in her hands to be salvaged. Pushed alone on the treacherous trail. Left for dead. How could he. More was promised and even more promises were broken. How could he hand her over to the enraged crowd like a shaker of salt. After everything she has done for him. After everything she has given up for him, for his power.

_Is this enough?_

She’s willing to fight him, to fight others until the sweet end. This is what you wanted, so be it. She will rule. The blonde goddess with a scepter and blood in her hands.

Ringing of her phone almost stops her heart.

 

.:.:.

 

The table is set. Now all he has to do is wait. Oh how it pains his soul to be at her mercy like this. But she will deliver, like she always does for him. This is his new place. Looking in at the White House from the outside. The new game board he’s ready to pillage with his pawns.

Clicking on the tv he admires his fair wife in white. The last thing she promised was to pardon him from his crimes. After all no one wants to be married to a convict.

A perfect doll playing the president. All she has to do is to repeat his words. He glares at her stone coloured eyes on the screen. Cold light reflecting against his face. Seconds are running through his mind. Time stretching on and on.

She is not going to say it.

The broadcast ends with her strong eyes and taunt jaw. _Fight me Francis._ Gritting his teeth he shuts down the television. Her name on his phone screen screams in white against the darkness. Lifting the phone on his ear he waits, never taking his eyes off the White House. Breathing hard against the microphone. Seconds start to feel like years while waiting for her to pick up. _I’ll kill her._

 

_The number you dialed cannot be reached. The number you dialed cannot be - - The number you di - -_

 

If one could die from rage, he would collapse right now. Heartbeat raising through the roof, he can feel himself drowning. Knuckles turning white while he squeezes his nails against palms. The betrayal. How could she dare to do this to him. She doesn’t value anything they have achieved.

Why can’t she see it? He is what she needs. He is what she wants. What a ungrateful bitch.

Moments like these require someone who will act. To do the unpleasant thing. The necessary thing.

 

_I’ll kill her_

 

BEEP BEEP BEEP

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I manage to show you some aspects of their relationship. This might be hard to understand if you haven’t seen the first 5 seasons.
> 
> I feel like Claire's hair is really important part of her character. I'll be exploring that more later.
> 
> With Musée d’Orsay Adam Galloway was referring to painting they have by Degas. Who’s famous for painting and sculpting females especially ballet dancers. Most of his works portrait isolation.


End file.
